


Viva Las Vegas

by insominia



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-29 15:21:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15732135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insominia/pseuds/insominia
Summary: A decade later the hero of Hoover Dam is still a hero, and the Lucky 38 is still open for business.A glimpse into Courier Six's casino in an independent New Vegas.Originally at nfkm





	Viva Las Vegas

**Author's Note:**

> Originally here: https://newfalloutkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1168.html?thread=350352#cmt350352
> 
> Based on the prompt: Courier Six takes over the Lucky 38 (probably after the Yes Man ending, but if you can make any of the other endings work for this prompt, go for it) and decides to run it as a proper casino.
> 
> But what kind of casino? What is its ambience, its looks, its theme? What kind of customers does it attract?
> 
> What would Courier Six' casino be?

The woman who lives in the Lucky 38 goes by many names. To the people of the Mojave, she is the last, best hope for humanity, the champion of justice, some would call her the messiah if they were so inclined. If you left the desert and found yourself in the East or the West you would hear very different names for her, vilified as she is. But to those who visit the Lucky 38, she is simply the Courier and she is a hero. The title is well earned. After all, she practically single-handedly liberated New Vegas from the stringent domination of Caesar's Legion, the unfeeling bureaucracy of the NCR, the violence of the raiders and fiends, and the threat of just about anyone else who thought to impose their will on the people of the Mojave.   
  
And really they'd had it coming.  
The Courier, shot in the head and left in a shallow grave, had been nursed back to health by a small town doctor and taught how to shoot by an even smaller town guard. The people there had looked after her, so she returned the favour when the Powder Gangers had rolled in causing trouble. Then she'd found Primm where the locals had helped her out while the NCR stood just a few feet away and watched criminals terrorise them because red tape wouldn't allow them to do anything else.   
  
Everywhere she went it was the same story. Decent, hard-working people trying to make something of a living in what remained of the desert, while the crossfire of the bigger powers tore down anything that might make life easier for the locals. You couldn't even run a caravan from one end of the Mojave to the other without NCR say so, and they had their own arrangements with their own caravans.   
  
So she sent them all the packing, turning Vegas over to itself, but she kept the Lucky 38 for herself. Not that anyone grudged her one abandoned casino in exchange for independence. For centuries the strip had lived in the shadow of a casino off limits to all, even the securitrons who guarded it. But that was ten years ago. There were those who thought the Courier would surely go mad with power, would surely forget the small folk and become a tyrant just like the man who had endeavoured to rule from the Lucky 38's penthouse before her. But a decade later and the hero of Hoover Dam is still that; a hero. And the Lucky 38 is still open for business.   
  
The '38 boasts all the features you'd expect in a casino. Games - naturally - though she also keeps a few tables open for Caravan, even has a couple decent players on the payroll to keep things interesting. That and she'd developed a fondness for the game, even if she isn't all that good at it. There's blackjack, roulette and slots of course, but there were a few new games too. Games brought in with the caravaners from further afield; liar's dice, craps and something called poker which was a big hit. 'Course if you don't fancy playing against the house, you could sit at any empty table and play your own games. No house take, just a place for people to share their own fun.   
  
There is a restaurant as you'd expect. Nothing as gourmet as the Ultra-Luxe but it has decent enough fare. The kitchens stay open to everyone, most of the meals are pay as you feel, so everyone can eat - from the high rollers to the frugal tourists to the down on his luck gambler. The Courier had seen too many people go hungry while the NCR had gathered food just yards away to deny anyone a meal. Likewise, she had seen the best and the worst the Mojave had to offer so those who try to take advantage soon reconsider.   
  
The Lucky 38 isn't just for the gamblers or the tourists, it's for everyone. You don't even need the fee to get on the Strip these days, you just have to not make trouble. You might not be able to afford a room at the Ultra-Luxe, you might not want somewhere as seedy as Gomorrah or as raucous as the Tops - the Lucky 38 welcomes anyone who wants a good time and to celebrate the thriving state of New Vegas.   
  
The casino walls are a testament to the success of the Mojave. 'Visit Primm' an old world print calls from behind the bar, but it's no longer an echo of the old world. You  _can_ visit Primm. It's more than just a convenient stop off to the Strip. The Vicki and Vance place prospers, while the Buffalo Bill sells a legendary radscorpion venom casserole, the Courier even had a shot at repairing the old roller coaster. It's less a thrill ride so much as a singular drop (she had never managed it completely) that carries you about a quarter of the track on momentum alone. It's as close to a rollercoaster that the Mojave is going to get and it only carries with it a chance of death rather than a certainty. But the same is true across the Mojave; communities had stopped surviving and started living, with testaments to their exploits and victories adorning every wall of the Courier's casino.   
  
The most impressive element of the Lucky 38 is the museum. Not that the Courier called it that, officially it has no name. But anyone can wander in there and see what remains of the once great powers that had tried to rule the Mojave.   
  
Along one wall - the uniforms of the NCR, though they had had the good sense to mostly run away rather than fight. Glass cases display mementoes of the Californian bear; a set of salvaged power armour, a rifle of the first recon, the distinctive long coat of the veteran rangers. Directly opposite stand the same for the Legion. More than one Centurion's armour stands dully to attention, flanked by a display of their subordinates. Further on, and for no extra cost, you can gaze upon the armour of the mighty Caesar himself. Beside him, the uniforms and weapons of his personal guard, and the infamous coyote head once worn by the greatest of the Legion's spies.   
  
There is more armour about the place, some recognisable, some from enemies beyond the Mojave that had never gotten as far as the desert itself. Dog tags, ears, laser rifles, glowing knives and so much more laid out showing just how many had underestimated the package courier of the Mojave Express.   
  
There are two suits that can only be viewed when you turn to leave. On one side of the exit is a relatively plain, checkered suit. Few know it's origins but there are rumours it had once belonged to one of the casino bosses before the Courier had rolled in. Most find that they barely glance at it, their eyes inevitably drawn to the gigantic spectacle beside it; the armour of the Legate Lanius. Even without its occupant, it's still enough to strike fear into those who see it. The mask still captures all of the Legate's ferocity and leaning beside it is the famous blade; the Blade of the East.   
  
There is a note pinned to the exit. It isn't addressed to anyone, but everyone who reads it knows for whom it is meant. It's for the eyes of those who have slipped into the '38 to see if the Courier is still a force to be feared, or at the very least avoided.   
  
It's for the NCR agents who attempt to blend in but stand too stiffly to be anything other than military. It's for the Legionaries who, like Vulpes before them, think a terrible hat and ugly suit will be enough to conceal their identities. And it's for the others, other factions, gangs, the occasional wanderer who assumes the Courier is a myth and the strip is just waiting for a new leader. The Courier sees all of them and misses nothing. Beside the suit of the man who had shot her, leaving her for dead and the armour of the most feared warrior to have set foot in the Mojave she leaves this message - ' _don't get any ideas_.'


End file.
